Blindsided
by Lennelle
Summary: Sam's 17th birthday gift: a hunt. The result: months of recovery and a life-changing injury. At least his 18th can't be any worse. Slight AU.
This is a little something I wrote for the Sam Birthday comment fic meme over on ohsam at LJ. The prompt was: _AU, Sam's 17th birthday present was a hunt that went south, landing him in the hospital facing months of recovery. Sam's 18th birthday was him receiving his first daily living aid as he leaves the hospital. It can be a wheelchair, braces, cane. Totally up to the writer what happened to Sam and who gives it to him._

* * *

Sam jumps a little when someone's hand rests gently on his shoulder, followed by a quick, "Sorry, man."

He can imagine what Dean's face must look like, pinched with worry, he reckons Dean might have made it his permanent expression over the past year. It must be tiring spending most of your time making sure your blind-as-a-freaking-bat little brother doesn't fall into a pothole.

"I thought you were sleeping," Dean says apologetically. Not that it makes any difference, eyes open or closed, Sam can't see anything.

"It's okay," Sam mumbles, already pushing the hospital bed covers off his legs, he can feel Dean bustling around but he can't tell what he's doing just by listening. Sam hasn't really picked up that superhero hearing that blind people are supposed to have yet, things are mostly just black and indistinguishable.

"It's the big day, Sammy!" Dean says and Sam can hear the smile in his voice, it's a little infectious and Sam finds himself grinning even though he's not particularly excited about The Big Day.

"I can't believe my youngest is eighteen already," his father says, Sam hadn't even known he was in the room. It's kind of a lot scary when you know all about monsters and their existence but you can't even do a thing to protect yourself. Sam can't shoot a gun any more, he can't draw a devil's trap, he can't even walk in a straight line by himself.

"Yeah, time flies," Sam remarks bitterly, the last year has been the longest and most painful year of his life, he's lucky he only lost his eyesight in all honesty. He finds his fingers brushing of his numerous surgical scars, the largest stretching across his stomach. He's almost glad he can't see what he looks like.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean sighs, "Don't mope before the day's even started. You're bustin' out of rehab!"

Sam huffs and gets to his feet, he takes a few steps, hoping to God he'll miraculously end up in the bathroom. Of course, he doesn't, he bangs his knee against a table before Dean comes to his aid. The rehab centre was supposed to help him to gain independence, so far the only positive outcome of living with other blind kids for the past couple of months is that he can read again, with his fingers this time.

Showering isn't what it used to be, he's not aloud to lock the door in case he slips on his way out of the tub and splits his stitches, and he spends most of his time in there trying to figure out which bottle is the shampoo.

"You done yet, Murdoch?" Dean calls, Sam can already hear him letting himself into the bathroom. He barely has time to cover his modesty.

"Dean!"

"I'm not looking!" Dean promises, Sam feels another towel being place around his shoulders, "Let's get you dry, we've got to make a stop on the way home."

Sam nods, biting his tongue. It's a crappy birthday to begin with because he can't see anything and he woke up in a hospital bed like he has done so often for the past year, but at least it won't be as bad as last year. He'll probably just wait in the car while Dean and Dad do whatever they have to do then they'll take him back to Bobby's and cook up some steaks or something.

* * *

Sam feels the car rumble to a stop, then the front doors creak open and closed. He leans back in his seat, frowning, he'd expected a 'we'll be right back' but no, Dean and Dad just left. At least this birthday is better than his last.

Then the door beside him opens and he feels Dean tugging gently on his arm.

"Wait, where are we going?" Sam demands, gripping onto the leather seat. He's not a fan of surprises.

"You'll see," Dean says, then he swears under his breath, "I mean, you know, you'll hear, smell and feel it."

"Uh... okay," Sam mutters, reluctantly allowing them to pull him out of the car. He adjusts his sunglasses, wishing for something to do. For a second he's standing by himself with nothing around to touch or hold onto and the sensation is a little like standing on the edge of a cliff with your eyes closed. He sighs with relief when Dean takes his arm and his dad takes the other and he's being guided along.

He's led inside a building and settled into a seat. There's a plant next to him, he's pretty sure. He must look odd sitting in a waiting room stroking a plant.

"So, is anyone going to tell me what's going on?" he dares to ask.

"Nope," is Dean's answer. Sam sighs and hunches further down in the seat.

"Can you at least tell me how long I have to sit here?"

"Not long," Dean says evasively. Sam scowls in the direction of his brother's voice and he hears Dean laugh.

"You know, it's morally wrong to pick on a blind guy," Sam says, "Not that you'd know anything about morals."

Dean doesn't say anything, just laughs. Sam isn't sure how long he sits there, time is a bit of a mystery when you can't look at a clock, but he guesses it's only about five minutes before he hears a woman's voice.

"Are you ready, Sam?" she asks, she sounds overly cheery. Sam shrugs, he's not sure what he's supposed to be ready for. Dean helps him and and he takes his dad's arm. As they guide him along, Sam takes note of their direction. Left, right, right, left, straight forward to the heavy doors.

He hears it as soon as he's outside. Barking. He stumbles to a stop, John holds him steady.

"No way!" Sam breathes, then he's pushing forward again, not even waiting for someone to help him, he follows the sound until he meets a gate and something jumps up and licks his hand. "No freaking way!"

"Happy Birthday, Sammy!" There's a chorus from more than just his brother and dad.

"Is it..." he doesn't know how to ask, he doesn't want to get his hopes up.

"You can pick one," Dean says, resting a hand on Sam's shoulder, "Better than a cane, huh?"

Sam nods enthusiastically, words aren't working any more. Maybe he's blind and dumb now but it doesn't matter because he's getting a freaking dog. Someone opens the gate and guides him inside, soft bodies brush against his legs. He sits down in the centre, holding his hands out to brush through fur.

"How do I pick one?" Sam asks, "I can't see them."

"Just get to know them," a woman says, "You'll know which one fits best with you. They're all trained but they're off duty right now so they're being their usual excitable selves."

Sam grins, he's in a puppy pile, this is the best birthday ever. Seriously. At first he can't tell them apart, but after a while he realises there are five of them, three girls and two boys, he's told. One of the girls is calm, well-behaved, she sits quietly to his left, one of the boys likes belly rubs and Sam is more than happy to oblige. In the end it's the other boy, the one who licks and nudges his hands, the one who holds his paw out to shake, the one that tries to get onto his lap, that Sam picks.

He was already named Cecil, but Dean calls him Conan (way more badass, Sammy). Cecil gets strapped up in his gear and proudly escorts Sam back to the car. And Sam can walk! Sam is walking without someone holding him straight, without knocking into things or tripping over. Sam feels like Sam again.

* * *

Giving Sammy a dog is one of my fave things to do. I hope you enjoyed!


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